


Intervention

by InkDemonApologist (MTTapologist)



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, JDS Escape AU, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:00:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25853992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MTTapologist/pseuds/InkDemonApologist
Summary: Out in the real world, the crew take a chance to get out of the house and browse a local flea market. Did you know some people collect vintage ink?
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	Intervention

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the Escape AU I've been pondering! A bunch of the crew escaped the Studio, restored but changed, and have to figure out how to readjust. One day I'll have a solid collection of info on it but until then here's some assorted thoughts and sketches on my tumblr:
> 
> https://inkdemonapologist.tumblr.com/tagged/Escape-AU/chrono

"This is a lotta people. Y'all gonna be alright?"

Norman seemed his old self; quiet but unconcerned, with a sort of calm interest that passed for friendliness. The scarf wrapped around his neck was all he needed to disguise, though it wasn't quite the weather for it. Wally also trotted easily a little ahead of the group, looking thrilled to be back in the hustle and bustle, just his mop of hair and ballcap to hide unnatural ears. Nobody really looks at how many fingers you have if you don't call attention to it, they'd discovered.

But everyone else was varying degrees of nervous. "We'll be okay, Norman," Allison smiled, but there was something... alert behind it, too alert. She had an arm hooked into Tom's, who seemed to be trying to keep an eye on every possible angle of the flea market simultaneously. "We want to try, right, Tom?"

Tom nodded, uncertain. "This is too many people," he growled, his low voice barely carrying over ambient noise of venders and shoppers. "But I want to try for you, at least."

Susie watched from behind the hair that swooped over half her face, her one eye wide, taking everything in, but she didn't have the same jumpy vigilance as the Connors. She seemed... shy. Like a child watching from the side as the other children play, afraid to join them. Jack wheeled a little bit behind them, his gaze trained nervously on Sammy, who stalked after them with one hand held up to shield his face, like he was avoiding a camera. "I'm fine," he hissed.

Henry.... well.... he might've been doing okay? It was hard to tell with Henry. He looked sort of tired, but he always looked sort of tired, and even when he wasn't strictly smiling, he'd have this accommodating and content look on his face. Tired, but glad to be here. He frowned a little at Tom, and then at Sammy, but nodded, accepting both responses at face value. "Okay. Just remember, we can leave whenever you want," he added, gently. "I just want to find a few things for the house, but we can get some extras if you see something you want. Linda wanted you guys to have something nice." A little smile on the edge of his lips, more a crease in the lines of his face than anything. "How about you, how are you doing, Buddy?"

Buddy pulled down his own hat with the hand not clutching pencil and notepad and nodded, a smile on his face. This wasn't their first time out of the house, it was just the first time in this much of a crowd. He could do it! He wanted to be able to do it.

"That goes for you, too, Henry," Allison added, fond but stern. "If it's too much for you, tell us!"

"C'mon Al, we can't stay cooped up in that house forever!" Wally grinned back at them. "Sooner or later, ya gotta get outta there!"

\------------

Tom and Norman were working out whether or not this chest of drawers could fit comfortably in Tom's truck, Wally was offering his completely unsolicited services as a spotter for this endeavour, and Susie had been dragged off by Allison to look at something or other that Allison had seemed very excited about. Buddy glanced at Sammy, still tense and angry and not really making eye contact with anyone, and inched a little closer to Henry.

He jumped when Sammy abruptly looked up, glancing around.

"Does anyone else hear music...?" he mumbled.

Henry frowned, quiet for a second. "I don't think so? My hearing might be going, though."

"Nah, I think it's just you, Sam," Jack added.

Sammy nodded with a small frown, head still tilted slightly as if listening. Without a word, he stepped away, eyes travelling over the tables in a quick scan, trailing slowly after something only he could hear. Buddy glanced back at the others. Henry was now fully engaged in being a Tom - Wally negotiations mediator, but Jack was looking worriedly after Sammy.

"Can you keep an eye on him, Buddy?" he asked, catching Buddy's eye with a small wince to his smile that said it was a big ask. He tapped the arm of his wheelchair. "This thing doesn't go through crowds too well." 

Buddy made a face which he hoped would convey "You owe me" and gave a short nod before loping off after him. Jack wasn't wrong. None of them should be left alone, and especially not Sammy; he'd been out of the house the least, and besides, historically, letting Sammy wander off on his own had never worked out well for any of them.

Buddy just.... would rather not be the one assigned to him.

\------------

Sammy slipped through the other shoppers and past tables, moving with a nervous curiosity now instead of being coiled tight in the back of the group. His steps slowed as he approached one table of knick-knacks, and then stopped dead, staring wide-eyed at the table, as if he wasn’t sure how to proceed. Buddy kept his distance as he watched, hesitating. If the man was going to have a flashback, or panic and freeze up, he didn’t… really know if he could help, and he couldn't exactly step in to explain anything if Sammy started rambling about sheep and demons --

"Something caught your eye?" the vendor asked.

Fortunately, the musician seemed lucid enough to hold a conversation. Barely. "...n.... no. I'm..... just looking...." he managed, in that soft voice that always seemed a little untethered from reality, and stepped up to the table, eyes still fixated on whatever he'd found.

The vendor gave a nervous little laugh at the other's demeanour, but took it in stride. "You know where that’s from, right?" she added, with a lopsided smile. Sammy's gaze flicked up to her momentarily with the most helplessly blank expression and then back down to the table. Buddy sighed. Somebody should help him. "It's actually really interesting, Joey Drew Studios made their own, and nobody knows what they used. After the studio shut down, that was it, so it's a really rare find! I don't even know if it exists unopened--"

Buddy felt his hat almost lift off his head as his ears swivelled forward, alarmed, and immediately pulled the hat back down over his hair and ran up to the table. Joey Drew…? And Sammy acting…??? No. He knew what that meant in his guts, but that couldn't be--

And on the table were a collection of bottles, including a small black bottle Buddy had hoped to never see again, so distinct against the others, every part of his brain focusing on that one shape and that one warning symbol printed on its side that he'd seen echoed twenty times across the desk in Sammy Lawrence's office. And Sammy still stood there, as the vendor nervously attempted to chat about rarity and prices, one hand resting on the table, fingers twitching and his eyes dark with a kind of terrifying intensity.

Deep breath. There was still, just inside him, the fear of this man he would've felt almost 20 years ago, but also a sort of fury that suddenly pushed him in between Sammy and the table, knocking the musician back. He wasn't sure who he was mad at but all the anger was aimed at Sammy for now, because this was his fault for wandering off, and he of all people should know better! Buddy glared, mouth working as if trying to find words; everything swirling in his head that could never actually get spoken. Sammy stumbled back, shocked, shook his head, and stared for a moment, hands frozen halfway to trying to hide his face, and Buddy wasn't having it. He grabbed the musician's arm, shot a look to the confused vendor that was somewhere between frustrated and apologetic, and leaned all his strength into dragging Sammy away.

It didn't take as much as he thought. Sammy was absolutely stronger than him; he knew this from experience, but the man limply allowed himself to be pulled. Not actually walking alongside Buddy like he was clearly capable of doing, but not fighting it, either. Buddy scowled over his shoulder again, not really sure what the other's deal was right now but this was really not the time...

Sammy's glazed expression hardened into something more familiar and irritated; his hand twitched in Buddy's grip but didn't pull away. "Don't blame  _ me _ , Art Department," he grumbled. "I certainly didn't expect Him to follow me  _ here _ ."

Buddy shook his head with an overwhelmed sigh. Didn't let go until Sammy stopped lingering a few steps behind and matched his pace like a normal person, and when he did, one of the musician's hands immediately went up to shield his face from Buddy, the other folded across his chest.

\------------

Sammy said nothing when they rejoined the others. Buddy tried to catch his eyes with a little "come on, out with it" gesture and Sammy just sneered at him in response. Jack asked if he'd found what he was hearing and Sammy gave him a look and the smallest headshake that immediately shut Jack up.

Buddy growled, frustrated. Henry needed to know, at least. He pulled out his pencil again, but as soon as he'd stepped away, his ears picked up whispering behind him.

"There's ink here. Ink Machine ink."

" _ What?! _ "

" _ Hush. _ I couldn't... stop. He stopped me. I'm still..." Sammy didn't finish that sentence. His whisper was barely breathed, terrified.

Well, maybe he didn't owe Buddy an apology, but he DID owe him a thank-you, at least.

Sammy spoke up, finally. "I need to leave," he said, loud enough for the whole group, that angry tension back in his voice. "There's too much noise."


End file.
